The Stone Monkey

us!”
    “I wanted to go outside. It’s like a prison here! That fucking little room, with my brother.”
    Chang grabbed his son’s arm again. “Don’t use that language with me. You can’t disobey me like this.”
    “It’s a shitty little place. I want a room of my own,” the boy replied, pulling away.
    “Later. We all have to make sacrifices.”
    “It was your choice to come here. You can make the sacrifices.”
    “Don’t speak to me that way!” Chang said. “I’m your father.”
    “I want a room. I want some privacy.”
    “You should be grateful we have someplace to stay at all. None of us have rooms of our own. Your grandfather sleeps with your mother and me.”
    The boy said nothing.
    He’d learned many things about his son today. That he was insolent, that he was a car thief, that the iron cables of obligation to family that had so absolutely guided Sam Chang’s life meant little to the boy. Chang wondered superstitiously if he had made a mistake in giving the boy his Western name when he started school, calling him after the American computer genius Gates. Perhaps this had somehow caused the boy to veer onto a path of rebellion.
    As they approached the apartment Chang asked, “Who were they?”
    “Who?” the boy answered evasively.
    “Those men you were with.”
    “Nobody.”
    “What did they sell you? Was it drugs?”
    Irritated silence was the response.
    They were at the front door to the apartment. William started to walk past his father but Chang stopped him. Hereached into the boy’s pocket. William’s arms rose hostilely and for a shocked moment Chang thought his son would shove him away or even hit him. But after an interminable moment he lowered his hands.
    Chang pulled out the bag and looked inside, stunned at the sight of the small silver pistol.
    “What are you doing with this?” he whispered viciously. “So you can rob people?”
    Silence.
    “Tell me, son.” His strong calligrapher’s hand closed firmly on the boy’s arm. “Tell me!”
    “I got it so I can protect us!” the boy shouted.
    “I will protect us. And not with this.”
    “You?” William laughed with a sneer. “You wrote your articles about Taiwan and democracy and made our life miserable. You decided to come here and the fucking snake-head tries to kill us all. You call that taking care of us?”
    “What did you pay for this with?” He held up the bag containing the pistol. “Where did you get the money? You have no job.”
    The boy ignored the question. “The Ghost killed the others. What if he tries to kill us? What will we do?”
    “We’ll hide from him until the police find him.”
    “And if they don’t?”
    “Why do you dishonor me like this?” Chang asked angrily.
    Pushing inside the apartment, William shook his head, a look of exasperation on his face, and walked brusquely into the bedroom. He slammed the door.
    Chang took the tea his wife offered him.
    Chang Jiechi asked, “Where did he go?”
    “Up the street. He got this.” He showed him the gun and the elder Chang took it in his gnarled hands.
    Chang asked, “Is it loaded?”
    His father had been a soldier, resisting Mao Zedong on the Long March that swept Chiang Kai-shek and the Nationalists into the sea, and was familiar with weapons. He examined it closely. “Yes. Be careful. Keep the safety lever in this position.” He handed the gun back to his son.
    “Why does he disrespect me?” Chang asked angrily. He hid the weapon on the top shelf of the front closet and led the old man to the musty couch.
    His father said nothing for a moment. The pause was so long that Chang looked at the old man expectantly. Finally, with a wry look in his eyes, his father responded, “Where did you learn all your wisdom, son? What formed your mind, your heart?”
    “My professors, books, colleagues. You mostly, Baba.”
    “Ah, me? You learned from your father?” Chang Jiechi asked in mock surprise.
    “Yes, of course.” Chang frowned, unsure what the man was getting at.
    The old man said nothing but a faint smile crossed his gray face.
    A moment passed. Then Chang said, “And you are saying that William learned from me? I’ve never been insolent to you, Baba.”
    “Not to me. But you certainly have been to the Communists. To Beijing. To the Fujianese government. Son, you’re a dissident . Your whole life has been rebellion.”
    “But . . . ”
    “If Beijing said to you, ‘Why does Sam Chang dishonor us?’ what would your